COLT
His release follows hers like lightning after the thunderheads break with rain, and the light of it, the literal flash against his scars, steals her breath momentarily. Her head tilts faintly, chest still pressed to his as her gaze drags along the shimmer sparking under his skin, the golden veins of it racing through old wounds, a molten rise from the depths of something long thought dead and dormant. She doesn’t even have a word for it. Beautiful feels too soft. Fierce too sharp. All she knows is that he glows, and it's something worth watching, the way any storm is, a force so wild you can't help but reach for the edge of it.
She's still spent in his arms, but the tight grip of his hands against her keeps her from drifting away in his tide, and she holds him a little bit tighter in turn, feeling the way he curls around her as he spends himself. There’s something primal and fulfilling in knowing she’s the one who pulled that from him, gave that to him, and she huffs out a note of satisfaction.
Every place his mouth lands upon feels ten times more sensitive now—neck, jaw, collarbone—each brush of lips making her jolt with the aftershocks. Her skin is soaked, nerves a live wire, body humming like she’s still standing in the end of the storm, but she doesn’t pull away. She leans into it, into him, clutching him tighter as their pulses begin to slow.
Unexpected most of all is his hand at her face, the one tucking away the wet strands of her hair, tender in a way that unbalances the hammer of her heart. It’s too soft, too sweet, so she reaches out, gripping his chin. Her thumbs drags along the curve of his jaw, stubble rasping against her skin like a reminder. A grin ghosts her mouth, lazy and well-fucked, as she murmurs, “Frey knew what they were doing when they picked you.” She leans in to steal a kiss while they're still tumbling through the fade of the heat, something for her to keep as she takes it from him slow and sure.
She's still spent in his arms, but the tight grip of his hands against her keeps her from drifting away in his tide, and she holds him a little bit tighter in turn, feeling the way he curls around her as he spends himself. There’s something primal and fulfilling in knowing she’s the one who pulled that from him, gave that to him, and she huffs out a note of satisfaction.
Every place his mouth lands upon feels ten times more sensitive now—neck, jaw, collarbone—each brush of lips making her jolt with the aftershocks. Her skin is soaked, nerves a live wire, body humming like she’s still standing in the end of the storm, but she doesn’t pull away. She leans into it, into him, clutching him tighter as their pulses begin to slow.
Unexpected most of all is his hand at her face, the one tucking away the wet strands of her hair, tender in a way that unbalances the hammer of her heart. It’s too soft, too sweet, so she reaches out, gripping his chin. Her thumbs drags along the curve of his jaw, stubble rasping against her skin like a reminder. A grin ghosts her mouth, lazy and well-fucked, as she murmurs, “Frey knew what they were doing when they picked you.” She leans in to steal a kiss while they're still tumbling through the fade of the heat, something for her to keep as she takes it from him slow and sure.
I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
